


Deliverance

by Walutahanga



Series: Arrangements [2]
Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers Dino Thunder
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Loyalty, Missing Scene, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walutahanga/pseuds/Walutahanga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to 'A Small Problem'. Trent finds out about Anton's arrangements with Tommy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliverance

 Trent tried to focus on his homework.

It was difficult to bend his mind about the algebra calculations. He was exhausted. He’d been kept awake for hours last night by his neighbours screaming at one another through the thin walls of the motel room. Then today he’d had two exams, fought a battle during lunch-break, and waited tables at Cyberspace all evening.

Being hungry didn’t help either. But he had almost used up the money his father had given him back when he left ( _fled_ ) home. It should have been enough – _would_ have been enough – except that both Trent and Anton had failed to take into account the extra expense of being a ranger. The increased appetite of a ranger, the clothes that needed replacing when they got shredded in battle…it all added up, and Cyberspace wages didn’t help much.

Anton would give Trent more money if he asked, but the problem was getting to him to ask the question. Anton had stopped picking up Trent’s calls weeks ago when Mesagog had surfaced during a tersely worded argument. Too dangerous, he said. Trent had pointed out there wasn’t much Mesagog could do over the phone, but Anton had said flatly _“There are only so many ways I have left to protect you, Trent. Let me have this.”_ At the time Trent thought Anton was asking Trent to respect what was left of his pride. Later, reflecting on his father’s words, he wondered if Anton knew more of what had happened in the labs than he let on.

Emails were too dangerous; there was no way to tell whether it would be Mesagog or Anton who read it, or what Mesagog would do with the information. Trent supposed he could always approach Anton face to face; he still saw him from time to time around the school. But asking for money would require a private conversation, and there was no way in hell Trent was letting himself get alone with Anton. He knew all too well how quickly Mesagog could surface, and how fast the bastard lizard could move.

And considering Mesagog’s mood today, he probably wouldn’t even bother torturing Trent. He’d probably just rip his throat out and be done with it.

Trent tapped his pencil on the page, wondering idly what had pissed Mesagog off so righteously. The lizard had not been his cold, rational self when he appeared on the screen, hissing amidst veiled threats that Dr Oliver would never have anything of his.

_“ **What** of his?” Conner had demanded. “We don’t **have** anything of his.”_

_“Actually, we do.” Dr O had said tiredly. They had all followed his gaze to Trent._

_“I guess Mesagog wants his evil white ranger back,” Ethan had said. Conner had shot an unreadable look at Trent, who was desperately trying to keep the guilty look off his face. Kira had mistaken his discomfort for fear._

_“It’s okay,” she’d said, touching his arm. “We won’t let Mesagog get you. You’re with us now.”_

Although her statement had meant to be reassuring, it had sent a stab of guilt through Trent’s gut. Because he wasn’t with them. Not all the way.

In fact, Mesagog’s rage had made Trent’s heart thump with painful hope. Maybe his father was closer to the surface than it appeared. Maybe this admittedly deranged behaviour of Mesagog’s was a manifestation of Mercer’s love for his son. Maybe one of his attempts at a cure was working. Maybe Mesagog’s hold was slipping. Maybe…

With a sigh, Trent dropped the pencil onto the page of useless scribbles. Going over and over his problems was not going to get his math homework done any faster. He knuckled his back with a yawn and decided he was going to need some caffeine in his system if he was going to get anything done.

He got the cup out and stood with his head resting against the cupboard, watching the kettle, thoughts circling sluggishly. No matter how he looked at it, the problem always came back the same. Trapped.

The kettle was just boiling when someone knocked on the door.

Trent sighed and closed his eyes against the cool cupboard door. It was probably the landlord again, after him for this week’s rent. Trent had already told him that he’d have to wait until Friday. He considered just pretending not to be here, but whoever it was kept knocking, getting louder and louder.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!”

Before answering the door, he quietly opened a drawer and pulled out a steak knife, just as a precaution. It was highly unlikely that Mesagog’s goons could have followed him here – Mesagog didn’t have the technology to reliably track rangers outside of a morph, and Trent had cut the GPS chips out of his arm back when he first escaped – but not impossible.

He hid the knife behind his back as he edged the door open, smiling brightly in case it was the landlord.

“What can I do for you–”

It wasn’t the landlord. It wasn’t Mesagog or his goons either.

It was Dr Oliver.

A cold sort of horror seemed to settle over Trent. He stood there, mouth hanging open, stomach sinking into his shoes.

“Hello, Trent,” Dr O said.

Fleetingly, Trent considered pretending to be somebody else. Preferably someone else who couldn’t speak english.

“What are you doing here?” He said. Maybe he could just turn invisible and later deny the whole incident ever happened.

“Your father told me where you were living.”

“Oh,” he said. “That’s…oh.”

He stood in the doorway, uncertain about what to do next. How much did Dr O know?

“Can I come in?” the teacher asked after the silence had gone on long enough to be awkward.

Trent shuffled back.

“Sure. I guess.”

He closed the door behind them and dropped the knife onto the counter, making Dr O’s eyebrows rise. He didn’t comment though, just looked about the tiny unit. Trent loitered in the doorway between the kitchen and lounge, looking at the carpet and waiting for the inevitable lecture.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase here,” Dr O says. “Your father told me what’s going on.”

Trent’s head snapped up. He stared at the black ranger, feeling like the bottom had just fallen out of his stomach. Mercer had told Tommy that he was Mesagog? Tommy knew that Trent had been keeping this secret from him?

Trent didn’t know how he felt about that. On the one hand, he was horrified that his father had exposed himself. On the other, he felt an odd sense of relief that he didn’t have to lie anymore.

But then why was Tommy looking at him with sympathy and compassion? Shouldn’t there have been a hint of reprimand, or at least disappointment?

Trent finally found his voice

“How much did he tell you?” He said. His voice sounded strange and croaky.

Tommy shrugged.

“He didn’t go into detail. Just that a deal with some shady business associates turned sour and he wanted you out of the cross-fire.”

Mingled relief and disappointment rushed through Trent’s veins. Tommy didn’t know everything after all. That was…good. A very good thing. Totally. Absolutely. 

Tommy spoke again, and his quiet tone quickly caught Trent’s attention.

“Trent…why didn’t you tell me that you were living here?”

Trent shrugged, making an inarticulate sound. He looked at his shoes, acutely aware of Dr O’s gaze. He didn’t want to look him in the eye. He didn’t want to see the sadness and disappointment in the man’s face.

“I’m not angry, Trent.” A brief pause. “Well, yes I am. A little. But that’s only because you’re putting yourself in danger here.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Really?”

“I’m the white ranger.”

“You’re also a teenager.” When Trent dared to look up, Tommy was giving him a look that saw far too much. “Have you been eating properly?”

“Yes.”

He was briefly thankful that serving Mesagog had taught him how to lie like a politician. Dr Oliver didn’t look convinced.

“What did you have for dinner?”

“Uh…” It had been frozen pasta microwaved into a sticky, unappealing lump, but he wasn’t going to tell Dr O _that_. “Look, it’s just for a little while, until my dad takes care of things.”

“Trent,” Dr O said. “I have a couple of spare rooms. You’d have regular meals, somewhere to crash. I’m a nazi when it comes to homework and coffee of any kind is strictly forbidden–” He sent a narrow look at the cup sitting on the bedside table, while the white ranger tried to look innocent. “But it’s a lot better than this place.”

Trent shook his head.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t know what my dad would think. He doesn’t like you very much. And he could make a lot of trouble for you if he wanted.”

Dr Oliver sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Trent, your father had some paperwork drawn up this morning.”

Trent stared as Dr O pulled a piece of paper from his packet and unfolded it. He passed it to Trent.  

“It seems I’m your legal guardian now – at least until you turn eighteen.”

The text blurred before Trent’s eyes. He bit his lip, blinking rapidly. For a second, he was reminded of that awful moment when Anton had come to see him the day of the rock fall.

_"Trent, something has happened to your parents...I'm going to be taking care of you from now on..."_

“I wanted to talk to you about it this afternoon,” Dr O continued. “But you rushed off before I had a chance.”

Trent nodded. After Mesagog’s little temper-tantrum, he had been able to see some awkward questions coming to light, so he’d made a lame excuse and left. He’d been prepared to dodge any questions that might lead the rangers back to his father. He’d been prepared to stand valiantly against their suspicions and lie like a trooper to protect Anton. Never in his wildest dreams had he seen this coming.

He passed the paper back to Dr O.

“Did he…did he say anything? A message?”

Dr O nodded.

“He said that none of it’s your fault. And that he understands what you have to do.”

_What I have to do._

Trent sat down. Hard. He was vaguely aware of the sofa sinking as Dr O sat down next to him.

“Hey.” Dr O laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure your father will be fine. He’s a tough, intelligent man. He’ll figure something out.”

“Right.” Trent blinked his tears away and managed a shaky smile. “You’re right. He’ll figure this out. All I have to do is wait for him to figure things out, and then things can… can go back to normal. It’ll all be okay. All I need to do is wait.”

Dr O’s reassuring smile would have looked genuine to someone less practised at lying.

“He’ll be fine.” 


End file.
